"Aha! The samovar!" he cried. "That's the best thing in life, granny! You here already, Sashenka?"
His hoarse voice filled the little kitchen. He slowly removed his heavy ulster, talking all the time.
"Here, granny, is a girl who is a thorn in the flesh of the police! Insulted by the overseer of the prison, she declared that she would starve herself to death if he did not ask her pardon. And for eight days she went without eating, and came within a hair's breadth of dying. It's not bad! She must have a mighty strong little stomach."
"Is it possible you took no food for eight days in succession?" asked the mother in amazement.
"I had to get him to beg my pardon," answered the girl with a stoical shrug of her shoulders. Her composure and her stern persistence seemed almost like a reproach to the mother.
"And suppose you had died?" she asked again.
"Well, what can one do?" the girl said quietly. "He did beg my pardon after all. One ought never to forgive an insult, never!"
"Ye-es!" responded the mother slowly. "Here are we women who are insulted all our lives long."
"I have unloaded myself!" announced Yegor from the other room. "Is the samovar ready? Let me take it in!"
He lifted the samovar and talked as he carried it.